


Summer Idyll

by kiss_me_cassie



Series: Idyllic [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Clint Barton's Farm, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Natasha Needs a Hug, Normal Life, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Retirement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-02 06:03:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6553909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiss_me_cassie/pseuds/kiss_me_cassie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint and Natasha try their hands at being just ordinary, normal folk on Clint's farm, with varying degrees of success.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. I'm giving a whirl to actually using the tumblr I signed up for years ago and never touched. If anyone's inclined it's [cassiesinsanity](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/cassiesinsanity).
> 
> 2\. Despite the fact that Natasha's trying to reinvent herself again and Clint is more than likely still messed up from Loki, don't look for deep psychological insights here. This is still mostly fluff. That's who I am as a writer (and a reader) and I make no apologies for it. ::shrug::

They drove down the long, dirt driveway in the gathering twilight and Nat could just about make out the vague shape of a gabled farmhouse and some trees ahead of them. Another dark shape loomed to the left, which she assumed was the barn. The rest fell in shadows and she made a mental note to investigate as soon as it was light enough the next morning.

"Home, sweet home," Clint announced, as they circled up in front of the house, though he made no move to get out of the car or pull the key from the ignition.

"We don't have to stay here," she assured him. "We can turn around and just keep driving."

"To where?"

"Anywhere," she answered with a shrug. 

He sighed and opened the car door. "We need a home base, somewhere trouble won't find us. This'll do for now."

"Trouble will always find us," she said, hoping to tease a smile out of him. 

It worked, briefly, but then he looked up at the looming house and his frown returned. "Even so, feels like we should stay put for a while and this beats Stark's frat house."

With heavy steps, he headed up to the front door and she followed behind him a little more slowly. As far as she knew, he hadn't stepped foot in this place since he'd left it, though she knew he paid a neighbor to take care of the land and make sure the house remained standing. When he'd first told her about it a few years ago, she had scoffed at his sentimentality. But today, standing on the threshold as he unlocked the door, she was glad he'd kept it.

"Electric's probably not on. I'll call them tomorrow." He flicked a dust covered blanket off the back of the couch and watched the motes float around him in the gloom. "Bedrooms are probably in just as bad a shape."

"We've slept in worse," she said as she followed him up the stairs. He hesitated at the landing and then pushed open the door to the room on the left. She looked around curiously at the sparse furnishings and garish floral wallpaper. 

His eyes followed hers as she took it all in. "Christ, I'm sorry, Nat. I didn't think it would be this bad."

"It's fine," she said, waving away his apology.

"Maybe we should keep driving tonight. Find another place to lay low tomorrow. "

"No. You're right. We need a place like this." She turned toward what appeared to be an adjacent bathroom, noting the old fashioned claw foot tub and pedestal sink. "We have running water?"

"Yeah. I keep it on for the neighbor so he doesn't have to irrigate from his place." She smiled at that and he noticed. "What?"

"Clint Barton, farm owner, casually tossing out terms like irrigate. It's different," she mused, moving back towards the bed and pushing down on the mattress. It was a little lumpy, but it would do. She sat and tugged off her boots, then lay back against the musty quilt.

With another deep sigh, he sat on the other side of the bed and starting tugging off his own boots and things. "This wasn't what I planned. It was just the first place I thought of that'd be safe, that couldn't be traced back to SHIELD."

"It was the right call," she said, curling into him as he lay down beside her. 

"It'll give us a chance to get our bearings," he said, wrapping an arm around her. "A chance to figure out what we want for ourselves."

"Like if we want to be farmers?" she teased.

He laughed. "Yeah. Although I was thinking more like who we want to be without SHIELD. But sure… farmers."

She smiled and closed her eyes. Tomorrow would be soon enough to start working on all the hard stuff.


	2. Chapter 2

"Hey, Nat!" Clint called as he bound up the stairs. "I'm heading into town to get some groceries. You wanna come?"

She looked down at her dirt and dust streaked clothing and raised a brow at him. "Like this?"

He shrugged. "I've seen you look worse."

"Yeah, in the middle of a fight," she countered as she pushed past him and headed towards the bathroom. "Which getting this house of yours in passable shape has been like. Thanks for the invitation, but I'll pass."

"You sure?"

She nodded and turned on the taps to the tub. "Yeah. I'm gonna try out your fancy bathtub instead."

"Sorry there's no shower," he apologized.

"Clint, do you think I really care?" At his slightly abashed look, she narrowed her gaze. "Honestly, Barton. Natalie likes her luxuries. Natalie would _die_ without a spa tub and separate shower installation. I may still be figuring out who I want to be right now, but I know it is most definitely not Natalie. And I'm kind of digging the claw foot tub."

He looked at her skeptically. "Really?"

"Really," she answered, rolling her eyes as she started stripping. "And now I'm going to enjoy the hell out of it while I wash away all this grime."

"Want any company?" he asked hopefully, eyeing up her bare skin.

She smiled and gave him a chaste kiss before slipping off her underwear and stepping into the hot water. "Maybe later. For now, go buy us food. I want yogurt. And cookies. And some of those little fruit snack thingies."

"Anything else?" he asked, amused.

She thought about it a moment before conceding, "You probably know what we need better than I do."

When he still lingered, looking somewhat longingly at the tub, she pushed at his leg. "We'll try it out together later," she promised. "But I have stuff to do now. Scoot!"

He reluctantly left and she gave a happy little sigh as she sank down into the water. She hadn't been lying when she said she could get used to this tub. It was deep and long, and she was able to submerge herself all the way up to her chin. If they were going to lay low for a while and figure themselves out, she didn't mind at all doing it from here. 

But lovely as a good long soak sounded, she had some things to do, just as she'd told Clint. Number one on the agenda after bathing was dying her hair. Vibrant red was good for luring in marks, but it wasn't good for starting out a new, quiet, _anonymous_ life in Iowa. The red had to go. 

With a reluctant sigh, she got out of the tub and pulled out the box of hair dye she'd picked up at one of the rest stops the day before.

When she emerged from the bathroom a while later, she found Clint down in the kitchen, putting various packages away in the cabinets. He turned when she came in. "Blonde, huh?"

She nodded. "I thought it might help me blend in more. Blonde has less of a killer-spy-who's-face-is-plastered-all-over-the-internet vibe and more of a small-town-wife feel to it."

"Probably." 

She couldn't figure out if his less than enthusiastic response was for the hair color or her casual use of the word wife. "You don't like it?"

He shrugged and went back to putting things away. "I don't not like it. Reminds me a little bit of the job in Provence. You were blonde then too."

She smiled fondly. "Provence was good."

"Provence was hot," he observed dryly. "And watching you slink around that business magnate while I sweated my balls off on an adjacent roof was definitely _not_ good."

"After," she corrected with a little smirk. "Before we met up with Coulson. When we put those balls to good use."

"That part might have been good," he admitted with a small smile of his own before sobering again. "So… wife? I thought we were done playing parts, that we were gonna figure out how to be ourselves for a while."

Ah, so not the blonde thing. She frowned and fiddled with the necklace at her throat. "We're in the middle of the heartland. Wasn't sure locals would appreciate knowing we're just long-term fuck buddies."

He stopped what he was doing and pinned her with a hard look, one that would have made a lesser woman squirm. "One, we are way beyond being just fuck buddies and you know it, and two, I don't think anybody would care if we're married or not."

She looked at him skeptically. "Really?"

He sighed and started to put things away in the fridge. "Really. Besides, how many people do you think I know around here anyhow? There's Paul, the neighbor who's been taking care of this place, and his wife, and that's it." 

God, she was nearly as bad at this relationship thing as she was at being herself. She reached out and touched his arm, halting his movements. "Clint."

She couldn't get the actual words out, but true to form, he understood her intent and took it with his usual good humor. "Accepted," he said as he placed a quick kiss to her temple and then went back to unpacking.

Snagging a pear from his hand as he was about to put it away, she hopped up onto the counter and took a bite while he finished with the groceries. "You really think we can do this?"

"Dinner?" he asked, being purposely obtuse. "I'll have you know I can compete with the best chefs Iowa has to offer."

"No, you ass," she said, laughing despite herself. "Can we be normal people? Not Hawkeye or Black Widow, not Charles or Natalie, but just us?"

"I dunno. I think you're pretty good at being yourself with me. When you're not worrying about what the neighbors might think."

"Clint."

He stopped and turned to her, serious. "Yeah, I think we can do this. I think we can do anything we set our minds to. Besides, I've seen you recreate yourself before. I know you can handle it. You won't like it and you'll fight me tooth and nail on all the little shit -- like this wife thing -- but I know you can do it."

"How?"

"How do I know or how do you do it?"

"How do I do it?"

"Same as before. By just being you, by being Natasha."


	3. Chapter 3

Natasha was standing on the porch, staring at the floorboards intently, when Clint came out of the house and joined her. His gaze traveled from her to the floor and back again. "What are we looking at?" 

"There's something living under the porch," she said, her eyes remaining fixed on one particular spot.

"What?"

She glanced up at him briefly. "I don't know. Do I look like a wildlife specialist to you?"

"No, wildlife specialist is one of the few things I would not consider you," he said dryly. He followed her gaze back down to the floorboard and shrugged. "If it's bothering you so much, shoot it."

She whipped around and stared at him. "Seriously? I don't even know what _it_ is, but you want me to shoot it?"

"Yeah?" he asked hesitantly.

She shook her head. "I don't need it dead, Clint, I just need it out from under our porch. It's giving me the heebie jeebies every time I hear it scratching."

He grinned at that and she narrowed her eyes at him. "What?"

"You said _our_ porch. Also, heebie jeebies."

She rolled her eyes at the first and ignored the last. "Fine. Your porch."

His grin got wider, if that was at all possible. "No, I think you had it right the first time. I'll just leave you and _our_ critter together to figure things out." 

He was leaving her to figure this out on her own? Damn him. "Where are you going?" 

He gestured toward the truck. "I'm going to Paul's to get that thing he said we could borrow. You need anything while I'm out?"

"Something to knock you out with?" she asked with her sweetest smile. "Or should I just use my bites?"

He laughed and shook his head at her. "I won't be long."

She watched him go, then straightened her shoulders and descended the porch steps. "Ok, Natasha, you've faced the Red Room, aliens, and a pissed off Hulk. You can handle one little animal that's living under the porch." 

Sliding a small knife from her boot, she crouched down next to one of the holes in the lattice. She wasn't going to kill it, she promised herself. She was just going to use the knife if it attacked. Wild animals occasionally attacked without provocation, right?

She stared into the gloom and two golden eyes peered out at her. Was that a cat? 

Dammit.

Sighing, she stood up and went back into the house. She grabbed a bowl from the dish drain, then poured some cereal into it. Cereal was sort of like cat food, wasn't it? Then she headed back outside, hoping to lure the thing out of hiding.

The prospect of food must have worked, because it poked it's head out as soon as the bowl hit the step. She was dismayed to discover how small it really was. "Shit. You're not even a full grown cat, are you? You're just a kitten."

At the sound of her voice, it hissed and swatted at her with it's paw. She cursed at it in Russian and the hissing stopped almost immediately. Curious, she shifted a little closer and reached her hand out to it, crooning in English. She was reward with a deep scratch across her knuckles. She cursed at the cat again and it skittered back under the porch.

"Great. Of all the things I could find under there, I find a murderous kitten who seems to prefer Russian."

She couldn't kill the poor thing, but she'd find another way to get rid of it, she thought as she stood and headed back toward the house. She'd barely cracked the door open when the kitten streaked out from under the porch and leaped onto the step to devour the bowl of food she'd left, clearly hungry.

It was kind of cute, she thought. Maybe she'd let it live under there a little longer. 

"I'm naming you Liho," she grumbled to the creature in Russian. "If you ever scratch me like that again, I _will_ kill you. But if you behave, you might get fed again."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter hits every "Clint gets a dog" trope and you know what? I'm ok with that. It's a pretty trope-y fic already. This is just more than the usual.

"Hey, Nat? Exactly how hungry are you?" Clint asked as he pushed his way inside the back door, pizza box balanced in one hand.

"Starving," she replied, grabbing the box and setting it down on the counter. "What took you so long?"

"I might have, um, ran into a little situation on the way back," he admitted sheepishly. 

She flipped open the lid of the pizza box and was dismayed to find only a few mangled slices left. "Clint, do you realize half of this pizza is missing? And that what's left looks like it's been previously digested?"

"Uh, yeah, about that."

She narrowed his eyes at him. "Clint, what did you do?"

"It might be easier to show you," he said, leading her outside. He whistled, and a shaggy yellow head poked up from the bed of the truck.

She stared at it for a minute before turning to him. "Clint, did you steal a dog?"

"I prefer liberated."

"From where?"

He scratched at the back of his neck. "The alley behind the pizza place. Two guys were urging him and another dog to fight. The other dog ran off, but this one was too scared to do more than cower next to a trash can."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "What about the guys?"

"Taken care of."

She shook her head slightly. "Clint…"

"Not dead," he clarified, his jaw tight. "Just not in a position to hurt any more dogs. Or anything else right now, for that matter."

"So much for keeping a low profile," she muttered. 

"Nat, look at him! He didn't deserve what was happening to him!"

She reached out, scratching the dog beneath his muzzle while she checked for tags. "Does he have a name?"

"Well, you started calling the cat Liho, so I thought we could kind of balance things out and call him Lucky."

"So no actual name or owners," she said, not finding a collar or anything else on him. She pulled her hand away and faced Clint squarely. "What was your plan?"

"I thought we could keep him, show him not all humans are bad."

She shook her head. "No. We are not adopting this dog."

"Why not?"

"Clint! We're still figuring out how to take care of ourselves. Now you want to throw a dog into the mix?"

"We're doing pretty damned well taking care of ourselves," he said, setting his jaw. "Besides, you got a cat."

"I did not get a cat," she argued. "The cat was already living on the property and I merely chose to continue to let her live on it."

He mirrored her pose, legs spread and arms crossed. "You think I didn't notice she was in the house the other day?"

Natasha shrugged. "We have mice. I decided to see if she could be useful."

"Uh-huh."

"Ok, so she's grown on me. But it's not like she's my pet," she said.

He chuckled at that. "I hate to tell you this, Nat, but the way you've been treating her is the very definition of a pet. I fear for the day I wake up and she's on the pillow next to me instead of you."

She didn't really have a good argument for that, so she refocused on the dog. "We are not talking about Liho. We're talking about the dog." 

"Lucky." 

The dog whined in response and she sighed. She was not going to let the two of them get to her. "You think if I say his name, I won't be able to say no."

"Now why would I think that?" he asked.

"No, Clint." 

"Nat." And the way he said it, with that look in his eyes, she knew she'd lost.

"Fine. But he lives out in the barn," she said as she headed back into the house. "And you owe me dinner. A nice one."

"Done," he said, whistling again to Lucky, who jumped out of the truck and followed him onto the porch.

By the next week, it was clear that the house belonged to both Lucky and Liho and that Clint and Natasha merely got to share it with them.


	5. Chapter 5

She hung up the ancient wall phone and stared at it in consternation. The call had been irksome at best, terrifying at worst. She was having enough trouble figuring herself out and now she had this to deal with too? It was enough to make her want to shoot something. Or punch someone.

Which is why, when she heard the first telltale whoosh of an arrow, swiftly followed by a muffled thwump and a hoot from Clint, she immediately headed outside to confront him. If he was sticking arrows into the side of their - _his_ \- house and risking the roof over their heads, she was going to kill him. 

She stomped down the back steps and found him aiming another arrow at a battered old target which he'd propped up against the barn's side.

When he noticed her, he smiled broadly. "Hey, Nat! Look what I found in the barn."

She stopped in the middle of the yard, hands on her hips. "Seriously, Barton? You're playing around with a bow and arrows?"

He raised a brow at her. "Playing?"

"Yup. There's a bow in one hand and a quiver on your back. Looks like playing."

He covered his heart dramatically with his hand. "Nat… you wound me!"

"Want me to really wound you?" she asked, stepping closer and taking an offensive stance. 

He grinned foolishly and took up a similar pose. "Any day."

They circled around each other a moment before Clint made a move and launched himself at her, his bow raised to strike. She feinted to the left and swept out a leg, but he anticipated the move and danced to the side. They continued, eluding each other, until Natasha surprised him with an unexpected punch to the ribcage swiftly followed by a kick that took him to the ground. 

He groaned and looked up at her. "Fuck. I need to remember to do less hand to hand with you when I've got a quiver on me. Ouch." He rolled to his side and sat up, hand going up to massage his shoulder. 

"Big baby," she taunted. "Want another try?"

He carefully set the bow down and shucked the quiver. "Bloodthirsty today, aren't you?"

She rolled her neck and smiled. "Sparring's a good way to get the aggression out."

"You feeling aggressive?" he asked as he stood and faced her again. 

She shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe I just like kicking your ass on occasion."

"Right back at ya."

The fight was more brutal this time, both of them pulling more punches than before. Natasha let him get a few good shots in, but mostly she managed to avert his blows until he finally caught her unawares. With a muttered curse, she tumbled to the ground, where Clint pinned her beneath him.

"Feeling less aggressive now?" he asked. 

"Maybe. Or maybe I'm feeling a little more something else right now," she said, tilting her hips up at him. "

He grinned wolfishly and leaned down to kiss her. That's when she struck, flipping them over and digging her knees into his solar plexus. 

He sucked in a pained breath. "Fuck, Natasha, what the hell are you doing? I thought we were just playing!"

She ignored his outburst and pinned him with a hard stare. "Do you know what I was doing before you started playing Robin Hood out here?"

His forehead wrinkled. "Um… no?"

"I was having a nice little chat with Catherine on the phone."

"Who?"

"Catherine," she repeated. "Paul's wife. She was really sorry she hadn't had a chance to call sooner, but she wanted to invite us over for a barbecue."

"That's nice." At her continued glare, he added, "Isn't it?

"It's not nice, Clint!" she exclaimed as she rolled off of him to sit in the dirt by his side. "It's not nice at all! I don't know how to be around normal people. There's no way I can have a conversation with Miss Farm Bred Country Girl without sounding like some insane person who escaped from the asylum."

"Well, when you put it that way…"

She glared at him. 

He sighed. "All right… I'll bite. Why can't you? You're the most social person I know, charming anyone who comes within ten feet of you."

"And why is that, Clint?" she asked with a cocked brow.

She saw the second it hit him. "Shit."

"Exactly."

He reached out a hand and gently clasped hers. "Listen, it's not like you've _never_ been yourself around other people. So… just do what you normally do around those people when you're around Paul and Catherine."

"What people?" she inquired calmly. "And fellow SHIELD agents don't count." 

He thought for a moment. "Banner."

She snorted. "Do you know how long it took for him to trust me? Our first meeting consisted of me flat out manipulating him so I could bring him in."

"What about Rogers? You guys are pretty tight with one another."

"Are you kidding? I flirted and lied and generally led him on during our whole little adventure together. And he called me on my shit. Multiple times."

"Sam?" 

She screwed up her face. "Maybe. But that doesn't change anything. I don't know how to be just me around other people."  
"You're just you with me all the time."

"But you're different."

"Why?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "You have to ask?"

"Yes," he said firmly. "Tell me. Say it out loud."

"Because you're… you," she started hesitantly. "You've seen me at my lowest, you know all my secrets, you've brought me back from the edge time and again. You accept me with all my flaws and lies and distance. I don't _need_ to pretend with you."

"So what makes you think someone else can't -- or won't -- appreciate you, even with some of your flaws? I'm not saying put your whole life out there, just try not to pretend you're someone else so much."

She thought about it for a moment. He was right. She'd rarely given anyone else the chance to see any of the flaws. What was the worst that could happen if she let her guard down just a little? "I don't know."

"It's just dinner. Maybe a couple of beers," he said, nudging her shoulder. "Let's give it a try. If it's a disaster, I'll never make you go there again. Although it's gonna be hell for me coming up with excuses if they invite us back." His voice took on a sing song quality as he rattled off, "No, sorry, Nat can't make it. Her hair turned green from all the dye. She was kicked by a cow. Stabbed by an arrow. Attacked by a crow."

His suggestions were absurd enough that he managed to tease a smile from her. 

"Better?" he asked, giving her a quick hug.

"Yeah," she said, leaning into him. "Thanks for the fight." 

"Any time."

She stood, dusted off her jeans, and started back toward the house. She was halfway there when she turned and called, "By the way, Barton, who still has a working wall phone these days?"


	6. Chapter 6

Natasha's hand was loosely linked with Clint's as they wandered through the meadow from Paul's house back to the farm. The stillness out here had unnerved her at first, but she'd grown to appreciate it, especially during times like this, when it was just the two of them.

"So?" Clint asked finally, breaking the quiet.

Her lips quirked up in a small smile, knowing what was coming, but unwilling to make it easy on him. "So?"

"Did you have a good time tonight, Natasha?" he asked.

She shrugged, purposely nonchalant, but she couldn't completely hide her amusement, not from him. "It was ok. Catherine and Paul were nice. The kids were cute."

He laughed in surprise at that. " _'The kids were cute'_? Since when do you notice kids?"

"It was impossible not to when the little one kept offering to braid my hair and the older boy kept staring."

His grin widened. "The kid's got good taste, even if he is barely prepubescent."

"It wasn't my body he was looking at. It was my face," she told him. "Turns out he's a big fan of superheroes, especially the shiny red and gold one that flies around Manhattan."

His brow rose in surprise. "Stark?"

She nodded. "He's also a very observant kid, noticing all of Stark's friends."

His grin slowly slid away as her meaning sank in. "Anything we should worry about?"

She shook her head. "I don't think so. He was a bit awestruck, but for now he's content just knowing we live next door. I don't think he'll say anything."

"Point for that, at least." He squeezed her hand a little bit and they lapsed into silence for a few minutes before he started prodding again. "So the kids were cute, the parents were nice and...?"

"Catherine does not consider me insane," Natasha confessed in a conspiratorial whisper, finally giving him what he really wanted. "Although she was horrified to learn I don't know how to cook and that you've been the one keeping us fed. I think she imagines us eating a lot of rare beef and nothing else. Little does she know you make a mean vegetable stir fry."

"I assume you set her straight?"

"I assured her it was better for all involved that you be our head chef."

"Thanks." He paused for a moment. "So, I'm not one to say I told ya so…"

"You absolutely _are_ one to say that," she laughed, bumping up against him.

"But in this case I was absolutely right," he crowed, bumping her back.

"Yes, you were. You were right about a lot of things. Like knowing this was the place we needed to be right now," she said, sobering as they made their way through the yard towards the back porch.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. It's grown on me."

"Like a fungus," he joked, stepping up onto the porch with her. "Home, sweet home," 

"You sound much happier about that than you did a month ago," she observed. "Look happier too."

"Yeah, well, I am happier. And It feels more like a home now," he said, tugging her down onto his lap on the old swing. 

"I don't think I've ever actually had a home before this," she confessed.

"Not even that little place you kept in London?"

She shrugged. "It was a place to live. This _feels_ like a home."

He smiled at her in the darkness and kissed her temple. "Careful, Nat, you're getting sentimental on me."

"There are worse things than being sentimental," she said, leaning closer to kiss him. 

"Maybe we should think about adding a kid to this," Clint said a while later.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah."

"Even if it wasn't already a non-issue, you really think we could care for a kid?" she asked, incredulous.

He shrugged. "We've already got a dog and a cat. How much harder could a kid be?"

"Clint, children are not the same as pets," she laughed. "Besides, the cat is still basically feral, and the dog would die of starvation holding vigil next to your rotting corpse before it would even think about itself."

Clint sighed. "That's… not entirely wrong."

"The only dog more pathetic than Lucky is the one in that movie you love so much."

"Hey! Lucky and Yellow Dog are both very lovable."

"And Liho?"

"She's tolerated," Clint grumbled. "At least she keeps the mice and other wildlife out of the house."

"The house," Natasha sighed. "When did we get to be these people, who have a farmhouse and a barn? Who think about adding a kid, however ridiculous and bad an idea it might be?

"It's not --" He stopped and hugged her closer. "Ok, it _is_ a bad idea. You win."

"It's not about winning," she explained, leaning her head against his shoulder. "But then, It's not really about a kid either, is it?

He shrugged. "Just seemed like a good idea to pass on our legacy."

Natasha snorted. "Of what? Brainwashing, killing and general mayhem?"

"Of world saving and doing good," Clint corrected softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As someone who struggled with random run-of-the-mill infertility and knows the heartache, please know I am most definitely NOT making light of Natasha's forced sterilization or her feelings about it. But in my mind, she's with the person she's trusted the longest and most in her life and surely they've had the hard conversations about this subject already.


	7. Chapter 7

She awoke to the steady thwump, thwump, thwump of Clint's arrows hitting the target outside. A low whine followed, and she imagined Lucky hiding from a stray rabbit or mouse which had darted out from a dark corner of the barn. Or maybe he was hiding from Liho. She'd never seen such a skittish dog, although she couldn't really blame him. That cat was lethal, and Lucky'd had a hard life until Clint had found him.

Another arrow landed solidly, and she frowned. Clint had been out shooting in the barn every day, even since before he'd found the old target. But she had been much more lax, sticking to daily yoga and tai chi routines but nothing more strenuous. 

It was time for that to change.

This new her, the one that she was learning to be, may not have been a spy or an assassin anymore but she wasn't a Harriet Homemaker either, and she'd been letting her skills go soft.

Leaning over the edge of the bed, she shoved aside a few random things until she found the small black box she was looking for. Hauling it up on top of the patchwork quilt, she opened the lid to reveal her set of throwing knives. With a quick flick of her wrist, she sent one into the pansy covered wallpaper by the door. She cocked her head and studied it. Not bad. Soon the wall had several knives in it in the shape of a crude hourglass.

The sound of arrows stopped and the back door banged open. She imagined it would only be a matter of moments until Clint showed up in the bedroom, but she didn't pause in throwing her final knife.

"Whoa!" Clint instinctively ducked as the knife embedded itself in the doorframe near his head.

She didn't even bother to look at him, just continued staring critically at the hourglass shape. "I was thinking we should get rid of the wallpaper in here."

"So you thought you'd start by throwing some knives at it?" he asked with a small chuckle.

"Figured it wouldn't make much difference either way." She stared at the wall a moment longer before finally looking up at him. "I'm getting soft. This is the first time I've touched these knives since we got here. I haven't even picked up a gun."

"Nat, I hate to tell you this, but there's no way you're going soft." He flopped down onto the bed next to her. "Anyhow, isn't that why we're here? To take a break?"

"You're still shooting arrows," she observed, settling in comfortably next to him.

"Yeah, well, I like arrows," he said, as if that made all the sense in the world. "Liked 'em before SHIELD, still like 'em now." He glanced at the hourglass she'd marked in the wall. "Do you like throwing knives?"

"I don't know," she answered, studying the knives again. "It's always been a matter of survival over choice. I've never been given the option to choose before."

"Now that is untrue," he corrected, giving her a little squeeze. "You chose not to die, you chose to trust me --"

She leaned over and kissed his jaw, then offered him a crooked smile. "I chose not to kill you. That's different."

"Besides the point. It was still a choice."

"Do you miss it?" she asked after a minute.

"It?" he asked hesitantly.

"Being out in the field."

"You mean getting shot at on a regular basis?"

"Yes. No." She sighed, trying to put her thoughts into words. "Being part of something bigger."

"Sometimes." 

She heard the hesitancy in his voice, but whatever else he was thinking, he hid it well. She couldn't discern a deeper meaning behind his answer.

"But you know what I'm missing right now?" he asked, shifting his weight so he was poised above her. "I'm missing not having stayed in bed longer."

She grinned up at him. "Well, we'll have to do something to change that."


	8. Chapter 8

Natasha scrubbed a towel through her newly reddened hair one last time, then headed downstairs to join Clint where he was lounging on the porch swing.

"You're back to red," he noted with some surprise as she pushed her way through the back door, a beer in each hand.

She shrugged, like it wasn't a big deal, and handed him one of the beers. "Felt more like me."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," she said, settling against him and stretching her bare feet out over the end of the swing. "The blonde started feeling less like blending in, more like hiding."

He ran his fingers through the still damp curls. "I like it."

"The red or the not hiding?"

"Both," he said, kissing her temple. They were quiet for a moment, the buzz of the bugs in the garden the only sound, until he hesitantly spoke up. "Listen, I had something I wanted to talk to you about."

His voice was all too serious for a lazy afternoon and she turned her head ever so slightly so she could see his face. 

He straightened up on the swing, dislodging her from her comfortable position, and took a deep breath. "I talked to Cap."

She was immediately alert. "When?" 

He had the grace to look a little sheepish. "The other day, when you were out at the farmer's market."

"Did you call him or did he call you?"

"He called me. But the thing is…"

"You want to go back." It was a statement, not a question.

He hesitated. "Maybe. A lot depends on you."

She cut straight to the chase. "If we went, what would we be doing?"

"Training and support, little to no field work."

"Sniping?"

He rubbed at the back of his neck. "Me, for now, but given a little more time, Barnes."

That made sense. Barnes wasn't mentally anywhere near where he needed to be right now. "Information gathering?"

"Carter." 

She nodded. Carter was a good choice and they worked well together. "The two of you have it all worked out, don't you?"

He blew out a breath. "Yeah. But not unless you agree."

"What about the dog?" she asked. 

He narrowed his eyes at her, then slowly answered, "Paul said he'd take him in, if it comes to that. Don't think Lucky'd really like it as a city dog, and it wouldn't be much different for him to move from this farm to theirs'."

"And Liho?" 

"I'd suggest taking the hellion but -- Ow!" He rubbed at the spot on his leg where Natasha pinched him. "Maybe convince Paul to take her too? She kinda seems to like his kids, as much as that cat likes anyone who isn't you."

"The farm?"

"Stays off the radar and off the record. It's ours -- just ours -- whenever we need it."

"And if I say no?"

"It's all or nothing. If you say no, we stay here. Get a horse or cow or something to go with the cat and dog. Then we wait for the cat to murder us in our sleep."

"Clint."

He shook his head at her. "No lies, Nat. I already made it clear to Steve that it's both or nothing."

"I have a confession of my own to make," she admitted. 

"The hair?" he guessed.

If she didn't already know he knew her better than anyone, she would have started to worry she was losing her edge. "When did you figure it out?"

"Suspected it when you wanted to know what our roles would be, knew it for sure when you asked about Lucky." 

"Never could hide a thing from you, Barton," she said with a small smile.

"Nope." He grinned and pulled her back into his arms. "You ready for this? To go back into the fray?"

She nodded. "You were right. We did good. If we go back, we could keep doing good."

"Does going back mean you're going to start wearing weapons on your person again?" he asked. 

"Possibly."

"'Cause it was kind of hot, finding a knife between your breasts after missions," he confessed.

"Only you would be turned on by weaponry," she said with a smirk. 

"Only when it's you," he admitted, brushing his fingers across her midriff.

She smiled widely and turned to capture his lips in a kiss. "Hey, Clint? You know when we were talking about Lucky and Liho?"

"Yeah?"

"You know the cat wouldn't kill _me_ , right? Just you?"

The sound of Clint's laughter could be heard echoing across the fields.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gratuitous smut scene set in this 'verse up soon...


End file.
